


let's see the end of this night.

by fade131



Category: Big Bang (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Criminals, Alternate Universe - Mob, M/M, i dunno tags are hard, i will add more as things happen, kinda sorta not really - Freeform, made au, mentioned minor character death
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-09-11
Updated: 2016-09-11
Packaged: 2018-08-14 09:40:58
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,807
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8008516
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fade131/pseuds/fade131
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Taeyang is looking for work, but when he crosses paths with Jiyong, he gets much more than he bargained for.</p>
            </blockquote>





	let's see the end of this night.

It’s not Youngbae’s kind of hotel.

It’s nice, but it’s high class in way that’s too showy, too obvious. From the massive angel statue out front to the golden sunburst fountain in the lobby, from the velvet upholstery on barstools all the way up to the three floor luxury penthouse at the top of the building, it’s simply too ostentatious. Rich people, in his opinion, were ridiculous. They paid well, sometimes, but they were bad clients. Jealous wives and vengeful fathers and bickering siblings, their agendas were petty and foolish and changeable. Not that he wouldn’t take jobs from them, but he avoided it if he could. Luckily, they aren’t why he’s here tonight. He’s simply waiting.

His contact, of course, was supposed to be here hours ago. He’d waited until midnight, and then he’d kept waiting until 2am because Daesung wasn’t the sort of person you just walked out on. He had situated himself at the hotel bar, and watched the people who came through – all of them rich, all of them expensively dressed, from suits and evening gowns down to gaudy party dresses and jeans. Now, he’s bored. He’s waited longer than he would for anyone else, and certainly more than he might have been expected to. He’ll text Daesung, he thinks, apologize for not waiting longer, offer to meet him any other time he wants. There’s no way this is a job he’ll want to pass up.

He makes it all the way to the lobby.

It had still been busy, even at this hour, starlets and heirs to minor fortunes stumbling in and out in various states of intoxication, heading to and from parties, but it’s oddly quiet when he comes in, when he heads towards the door. He registers the difference, catalogues it as strange, and then the bank of doors pushes open and a veritable crowd comes in, so quickly that Youngbae only really sees some of them – dark-suited thugs who check doorways and move quickly towards the elevators, an angry young woman in neon-bright sweats with a bat slung over her shoulders, a tall man with spiked hair wearing sunglasses despite the late hour. But the one who stands out the most is at the center, practically being led by his companions, the only person who seems completely unaware of everything going on around him.

Youngbae has only seen Kwon Jiyong before in newspaper photographs, and once, infamously, on television with Yang Hyunsuk himself, after the trial. He’d thought him handsome then, or maybe even pretty, something too captivating to be contained in words. In person, he is arresting. Even like this, alone in this crowd, distracted and hurried along to the elevators, he draws Youngbae’s attention like no one else. But something has clearly happened, something has gone wrong – the young man’s suit is rumpled, a spray of bright red blood staining his white shirt, drying on his hands, smeared across his cheekbone.

“I’m surprised you waited so long,” comes Daesung’s voice beside him, and Youngbae turns to look at him quickly in his surprise, just as the elevator doors slide shut.

“I thought you might have been held up,” he says quietly. Daesung gives him the same wide smile he always does, but it’s devoid of its usual amusement. Not for the first time, Youngbae wishes the man’s eyes were visible through his bangs, so he could read him better – or get a read on him at all. Daesung’s shiny purple shirt is hideous, and open at the chest, and stained dark across his forearm where someone had held onto him, and Youngbae thinks of Jiyong reaching up to push back his hair as he came into the hotel, instinctively, then stopping, and his palm had been clean but for the rivulets of red drying in the creases. “I can meet you another time, if that’d be better. If you need to—”

“That’s not necessary,” Daesung interrupts icily, and he pulls out his phone, and Youngbae lets it drop. The job they have for him isn’t too complicated, and he’s glad for the work, and the conversation is professional and short and Daesung gives nothing away. He’s smiling again when they say goodbye, and he saunters casually to the elevators, looking for all the world like he has nowhere important to be. Youngbae stands in the lobby and stares at the fountain that gave the hotel its name, until he shakes his head clear and heads home.

In the morning, he finds out what happened with the rest of the world. It’s all over the news, splashed across the papers in bold and jarring colors – YG, the untouchable boss of the most notorious gang in Korea, had been shot outside his club in downtown Seoul. The man who shot him was killed, of course, and the photos of his bullet-riddled body receive the dubious dignity of at least being in black and white. He’s unidentified, and although the police interviewed make noises about investigation Youngbae knows they won’t get to the bottom of anything, because JYP has them in his pocket and he doesn’t operate like that. The politics of it don’t interest him. Daesung still gave him the job despite what had obviously just occurred, so he’ll still get paid, boss or no boss, and that’s what matters to him.

The job is easy, in the end, and that’s one more body on the ground.

Daesung meets him in the hotel bar again after, after he’s been paid and everything’s good, but this time he’s already there when Youngbae walks in. He’s leaning back, elbows on the bar, a glass dangling idly from one hand, and there’s a girl in a sparkly nothing of a dress plastered against his side, whispering in his ear and giggling.

“Taeyang, you’re early,” he singsongs, and the girl goes quiet, peering at Youngbae through her bangs, her hand resting on Daesung’s chest just under the open v of his shirt. It’s black today, but still distractingly shiny. 

“I can wait if…”

Daesung laughs, dismissive. The girl unpeels herself from his side without a word, and hurries off towards the elevators, although not without looking back to see if they’re watching her. The golden fringe at the bottom of her dress bounces, and Daesung’s smile is wide and warm and appreciative. “The boss was pleased with your work. Clean and efficient. That’s something he respects.”

“The boss?” Youngbae questions, lightly, and he takes the drink the bartender sets in front of him. He wonders if the look Daesung gives him is condescending or not, and then decides he doesn’t care.

“The boss,” Daesung says, expansive, “appreciates men with talents like yours. Men like him, they need men like you. They have enemies, they need someone with talents like yours to keep their rivals from gaining too much traction, they need men who don’t hesitate, who get the work done.”

“And what do men like Kwon Jiyong need from men like you?”

“A man like Kwon Jiyong,” comes a honeyed-soft voice behind him, and Youngbae is conscious of the fact that the room goes still, “needs a man like Kang Daesung for reasons that should be very obvious, even to a man like you, Taeyang.”

Youngbae turns, because he feels drawn to, like a hook caught in his skin and pulled. It is the man himself, of course – he is immaculate today, clean and pressed, hair slicked back, and the innumerable silver rings on his fingers click against the glass of wine in his palm. Up close, like this, there is a threatening edge to his loveliness, danger written in the soft redness of his lips, in the seductive darkness of his eyes, in the calm assurance with which he holds himself. 

“Enlighten me,” he says, because he wants to know what Jiyong’s reaction will be. 

And the man doesn’t disappoint, his serious expression breaking on a sarcastic little laugh, brow arched, a smirk settling on his lips, the expression darkening as he speaks, almost hostile. “I need a man like Daesung for when men like you make mistakes. For when men like you aren’t enough. For when men like you aren’t loyal.”

Having a smart mouth is a hazard in this business, Youngbae knows. But he never really learned the lesson.

“Sounds like you needed a man like Daesung a week ago,” he says, and Jiyong goes completely still.

Some people call Jiyong the dragon, because of his name, and he’d wondered if Jiyong’s temper would flare hot like a burst of flame but he’s made of ice, Youngbae thinks, a little distantly, he’s carved from cold and marble.

“I’m going to forget you said that,” Jiyong murmurs, and his voice is deceptively light, perilously soft, and it is now that Youngbae realizes that his composure is an illusion, it is now, belatedly, that he registers Jiyong’s pallor as unnatural, that he sees the steel wire tension under his false ease. He’s stepped in it. He wonders, despite the boss’s words, if he should run – but then, something in the darkness of Jiyong’s eyes tells him the time for that passed ages ago.

When he doesn’t respond, Jiyong’s expression tightens, eyes hard and too bright. “I’m being very kind,” he says, sharp, condescending. “You should thank me.”

“Thank you, Mr. Kwon,” Youngbae says, automatic. Next to him, Daesung stands up straight from his lounge against the counter, and he realizes he’d practically forgotten anyone else was there, that they were standing in the relatively public space of the hotel bar.

“The next time we meet, you’ll be more polite,” Jiyong says, and his voice is arrogant and calm again, like nothing happened. But maybe that’s his point.

“Yes, sir.”

Jiyong’s lips quirk up at the corners. “Good,” he says, and he turns away and heads for the lobby, the elevator, just like that. “Daesung?”

Daesung shakes his head, and gives him a look like he’s an ass – or, most of a look – but that’s a pretty fair assessment, Youngbae thinks, watching as Daesung follows after Jiyong, and the ambient noise of people living their lives comes back to the bar.

He’s out front when he gets the text, Daesung’s number flashing on the screen, and he stops next to the angel statue while he opens it. _We’ve got another job for you,_ it starts, and then there are details, and he’s surprised, because tonight’s whole encounter felt like a test he didn’t pass. He almost tells himself he’ll try harder next time, but he won’t, so he doesn’t.

He touches the angel’s outstretched hand before he heads down the street. It’s watching, blank grey eyes surveying the dark stone courtyard, and Youngbae always feels like it’s sad, like it’s waiting.

And then he drops his hand, and turns, and heads for home.

**Author's Note:**

> i rated this high mostly in anticipation of later chapters idk
> 
> this is a work in progress so like maybe ill keep writing it fingers crossed i hope you liked it bye


End file.
